


He Thought Her Unsinkable

by leggywillow



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 00:12:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2792738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leggywillow/pseuds/leggywillow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after leaving Kirkwall behind (after siding with the mages and sparing Anders but ultimately unable to continue a relationship with a man who betrayed her trust), Hawke tries to find a new purpose: learning more about the red lyrium that played such a big role in all of this.  Along the way, she reunites with Grey Warden Alistair Theirin.</p><p>(Yes, Hawke's name is a pun.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Precipice of Change

“Wait a minute, I _know_ you.”

Kitty didn’t grab for her daggers, though she subtly tensed in preparation, her hands releasing their grip around the mug of ale before her.  She could draw and stab faster than anyone.  Well, maybe not Isabela, but Isabela wasn’t here to argue the point.

None of them were here anymore.  Hawke didn’t want it that way, but it needed to be.  It was too dangerous to keep them close.

She looked over her shoulder at the blond man approaching her side.  He took a seat at the bar keeping one empty stool between them.  “Pretty sure you’re mistaken,” Kitty said.  She didn’t want to be recognized.  Last she heard from Varric, _people_ were looking for her.  Important people.  People with lots of titles and lots of swords and probably a whole lot of questions about her last days in Kirkwall.

Maybe she was running from the questions as much as she was running from the people asking.  Kitty didn’t want to remember anything from those final months.  Years.

The blond man chuckled.  He did look a bit familiar, and it wasn’t just the Grey Warden getup.  Shit, they weren’t after her too, were they?  They hadn’t _seemed_ angry after that mess in the Vinmark Wastelands, with Corypheus and Janeka and the old corrupted Warden—or at least, not angry with her, which was generally the most important thing.  Bethany had written letters after returning to the Wardens following the destruction of the Gallows and Kitty’s departure from Kirkwall soon after, and she hadn’t mentioned anything about her Order having it of for her.

So odds were this man wasn’t here to question her, like the Chantry seemed to want, or to kill her, like Sebastian Vael did.  He ordered a drink with a gesture in the bartender’s direction before speaking: “I’ve taken a lot of hits to the head, but I’m pretty sure I’d recognize the Champion of Kirkwall.  Especially since we’ve met.”

“Have we?”  Her voice took on a note of over-the-top loftiness.  “I’ve met so very many people, it’s difficult to keep track, even of the handsome ones.”

He chuckled again.  “I may blush, my lady,” he joked in return.  Maker, the last thing she needed was another blond-haired, warm-eyed man laughing at her jokes.  “Even if you have forgotten me.  Alistair.  Of the Grey Wardens, if the outfit didn’t give me away.  I believe I bumped into you hip-deep in qunari a few years ago.”

“Oh!” Kitty said, genuinely surprised enough to drop some of that breathy tone, the one Carver had always said was damnably frustrating—which was probably why it had become a habit in the first place.  “I _do_ remember.  You gave me an amulet.  You said it belonged to the love of your life.”  Running into a gaggle of Grey Wardens as the Arishok tried to raze the city to the ground had been strange enough, but having the famous Alistair, a hero of the Fifth Blight, give her a necklace had certainly been bizarre enough to stick with her.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” he said with a heavy sigh.  Alistair rubbed at the back of his neck, and Kitty noticed the lines on his face.  During the battle in Kirkwall, he hadn’t seemed nearly so old—not that he looked _old_ -old.  It was the kind of look a person had when they’d seen way too much shit for their years.  The last time Kitty had seen herself in a looking glass, she noticed that she’d started getting the same lines.

“And that she didn’t need it anymore,” Kitty continued.  She had never learned how to quit while she was ahead.

“That’s right,” Alistair said, his voice soft. 

There was a brief and awkward silence while they stared into their respective mugs, and Kitty wondered again if he was going someplace with all of this.

He didn’t seem to like the silence any more than she did, since he spoke again with forced cheer in his voice.  Kitty was good at recognizing that in a person, if nothing else.  “Anyway, the thing I’m curious about is what brings the Champion of Kirkwall to a dive bar in the middle of the Frostbacks.  You don’t see a lot of famous people around here.

“Andraste’s nipples, stop making a big thing of it.  I’m on the run.  I think.”  It had never been made expressly clear whether she was in trouble or not, but Kitty had the good sense to act on Varric’s advice and not stick around to find out.  Well, there was always Sebastian.  She always forgot about Sebastian and his threats, but if he wanted Anders dead, well, he could do it himself.  Kitty was sick of being used.

She had told Anders the same thing, through enough bitter tears to fill the Waking Sea, before leaving him behind, too.

Alistair laughed, the sound thankfully drawing her out of sad memories.  “I know what that’s like pretty well.  For what it’s worth, I only recognized you because of the qunari mess.  I don’t think anyone else here knows about the Champion of Kirkwall.”  Alistair looked over his shoulder at the other patrons, mostly surface dwarves.  “I think the only news this lot cares about comes from underground.”

The Cloudgazer’s Rest was the only tavern in a settlement that thrived entirely on facilitating trade between Orzammar and the rest of Thedas.  Most of its denizens were surface dwarves out of duty, keeping the lyrium moving out and the gold moving in, though there were enough Avvar-blooded humans hanging about to keep Kitty from looking too out of place.

She smiled.  “That’s good for me.  The kind of information I need probably comes from underground.”  An idea sparked in her head.  “Grey Wardens are allowed down there, in Orzammar, aren’t they?  Is that why _you’re_ here?”

Alistair raised a rightfully suspicious brow.  “We don’t come and go willy-nilly, but I suppose so.  Why?”  He ignored the second part of her question, but Kitty could follow up on that later.

Kitty wasn’t used to not having a goal, a mission.  In Kirkwall, it had been simple: keep her family safe, keep her friends safe, keep Anders safe.  Now it was all gone, and so far her only mission had been to try and figure out how Kirkwall had gotten to be so… so _wrong_.  Her vague mission had halted here at the Cloudgazer’s Rest, stymied by indecision, but maybe this serendipitous meeting would give her what she needed.

Her eyes glittered in a way that Aveline had learned meant trouble and Isabela had learned meant fun, but Alistair had no such experience.  “I need to talk to someone about _this._ ”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a red silk handkerchief, unwrapping it carefully so as not to brush her skin against the runestone contained within.  Alistair leaned in close, a hand resting on the empty stool between them, and Kitty leaned in closer to show him at the same time.

“ _Balls,_ ” Alistair cursed when their foreheads thwacked together.  “ _Fuck,_ ” she echoed.  Despite the ache in her forehead, she caught a whiff of leather and smoke.  Manly man smells she hadn’t smelled in a while.

“M’sorry,” he apologized hastily.

Kitty grinned and shrugged.  “I’ve had worse.  You aren’t the only one who’s been hit in the head a lot.  Anyway.  _Look_.”

She held out the runestone carefully nestled in silk.  Sandal had created it with utmost care, to try and negate some of the powerful energy that had caused Bartrand to entirely kill and at least partially eat his serving staff, the same power that had caused Knight-Commander to shriek with pain and terror as her body was twisted into a living statue.

Alistair’s face was blank.  “Okay.  It’s a rune.”

 

“It’s lyrium,” Kitty clarified.  “ _Red_ lyrium.”


	2. Welcome to Orzammar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This chapter is fairly short, because to be honest I have nooooo idea how to write fanfiction or really string together a story at all so BUCKLE UP, KIDS, THIS RIDE WILL BE ROUGH. Also I feel the need to apologize for Kitty, because she really is just a cloudcuckoolander who is the definition of "tries way too hard.")

“How did I get talked into this?” Alistair said very suddenly as if the thought had only just struck him, so much so that Kitty jumped.  She was a very jumpy sort of woman, with a fast, twitching way of moving that made Alistair think that for all her smiles, she was a woman who had gotten very used to looking over her shoulder.

Kitty shrugged.  “One time I convinced a bunch of templars that a dozen mages in a cave with one entrance had escaped.  Or maybe that I killed them all?  I really can’t remember the lie, but it worked.”

“So you’re saying you tricked me into this?” Alistair asked, raising a brow.

Kitty also had a quick, sharp way of smiling, something that was both charming and worrying.  “Nah.  I just have a way with people.”

Hawke’s ‘way with people’ had gotten them into Orzammar.  Or rather, it had gotten Alistair to get them into Orzammar.  When you had questions about lyrium, who better to ask than the dwarves who mined it, right?  Though his first suggestion—Sandal, Bodahn’s son with a host of unique talents—had been surprisingly tried already.  Sandal and Bodahn had been working for Hawke as manservants for the past five or so years (Hawke couldn’t quite remember the exact number).

“At some point you’re going to run out of surprises for me, right?” Alistair had asked after Kitty brought up Sandal.

That sharp-toothed grin.  “Oh, never.”

Alistair had felt something _weird_ in his chest then, and he very deliberately decided to Not Think About It and go ahead and lead her to Orzammar.

They had scarcely gotten a dozen steps past the grand stone gates when a messenger had arrived with a polite invitation for Warden Alistair—and his charming companion, of course—to have dinner with King Bhelen.  Wonderful.  He hadn’t intended for this to become a political visit, but Grey Wardens didn’t visit too often on trips besides their Callings.  Alistair remembered Duncan telling him about visits to Orzammar, about expensive banquets and Provings fought for the glory of the Wardens.  Maker, he hoped there would be none of that this time around.

The dinner invitation also distracted them from their purpose.  Kitty seemed like an easy woman to distract, not that Alistair could blame her for gaping in awe at Orzammar.  For a short race, their buildings were tall and grand, carved into the mountain itself.  Where fancy Orlesian palaces had dainty water fountains, Orzammar had waterfalls of red and yellow lava.

“How are they doing it?” Kitty asked, leaning against a railing and peering down into the lake of lava far below them.  “The air’s warm, but I can still _breathe_.  Our lungs ought to be on fire.”

Alistair shrugged.  “Enchantment,” he suggested, thinking of Sandal.

“Enchantment,” Kitty agreed, smiling.  This smile wasn’t one of her devilish grins: it was slower and softer as she marveled at the lava floes.  It was pretty.  Alistair must have studied her for too long, marveling at just how much a soft expression could change a sharp face.  Kitty gave him a sidelong glance.  “Tongue back in your mouth unless I ask, Pal-istair.”

“Pal…istair.  Tell me you aren’t going to say that again.”

“I’ve been mulling over it for a while.  I’ll stop when it gets old.”

“It’s already old.”

“ _You’re_ already old.”

They burst into laughter simultaneously, Alistair out of pleased vindication at finding someone with a cornier sense of humor than he had.  He wondered what sort of pun Kitty would get out of ‘Morrigan.’

Kitty pushed away from the railing.  “Okay, so the red lyrium hunt has been delayed by dinner with the king.  As you do.  Am I going to offend anyone going like this?”  She spread her arms, indicating the hodgepodge of red fabric, leather, and metal bits shaped like beaks and bird skulls that she called her armor.

Alistair blinked.  “No?  I don’t know, to be honest.  We just wear our warden blues when we visit.  I have no idea what’s fashionable or appropriate down here.”

“Things that are a few feet too short for me, regardless, I bet.  And there isn’t any time to have a dress made.  Oh, my mother would be beside herself if she knew I was meeting with a king wearing something with bloodstains on it.”

Alistair paused, and then studied the red of her fabric a little more suspiciously.

“Oh well.  Shall we, then?”  Kitty held out her arm.  “Escort a lady to dinner, would you, messere?”

Alistair bowed at the waist before taking her arm.  “It would be my pleasure, my lady.”

They made a strange sight in the Diamond Quarter, two humans walking arm in arm and making various ‘pip pip cheerio’ sounds at each other.  Neither of them appeared to notice or care.

“Look at them, faffing about without a care in the world,” one dwarf commented to another, lounging on the stoop of the entryway to the once-busy estate of House Harrowmont.

“That’s a mistake we can use,” his partner said.  “Get a message to Urtok.  We’ll strike once they’re clear of the Palace.  Tonight, maybe tomorrow.  Gotta get our men in place.”

The first dwarf nodded and stood up, strolling away with casualness that belied his purpose.


	3. A Brief Flirty Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I feel bad for not updating, so here's a short interlude before the banquet.)

Alistair splashed some water on his face from a basin of it begged from the serving girl in Tapster’s Tavern, and Kitty had removed most of the leather straps and metal bits—gauntlets, bird skull-shaped buckles—from her ensemble.   The rich red tunic looked nice enough, and Alistair’s uniform looked rather sharp once he used the basin water to dab away a cheese stain or two.  He hoped it was good enough not to offend, anyway.  Surely it would be fine: the last time he’d spoken to King Bhelen, he hadn’t gone a day without getting fresh darkspawn blood under his fingernails.  These days he was practically sparkling in comparison.

“What do you think?” Hawke asked, jutting out a hip and striking a dramatic pose that reminded Alistair more of the folks in the Pearl than the ladies in the Pearl.  Not that he had spent much time in the Pearl.  Much.

“Er,” he said, his brain as usually grinding to a halt when asked his opinion by a woman.  “I sort of miss the birds,” he blurted out.

She looked thrown herself for a moment, blinking before barking out a laugh.  “Not too good at the compliments, are you, Alistair of the Grey Wardens?”

His face felt warm.  “They tell me I’m _shockingly_ terrible at them.  New depths of awful, really.  But I did like the buckles.  The birds.”

“Being bad at something’s never stopped me before.”  Kitty stepped very close to him, then, and Alistair was acutely aware of it, his face still burning.  Maker.  He was nearly thirty; this was ludicrous.  She touched a hand to his chin, looking up at him with big blue eyes that seemed stripped of the many layers of defenses they’d held before.  Alistair recognized every one of them.  He ought to: he wore most of them himself.

For a moment they stood that way, touching lightly, neither one speaking.  “Don’t let it stop you either.  You’re rather sweet.”  Then the spell was broken.  Kitty removed her hand and stepped away, her eyes sparkling and sharp again.  “I’ll put the buckles back on later, just for you.”

The heat was gone from his face, now that they were back to quips he could keep up with.  Hawke was going to be difficult to keep up with in a lot of ways, he could already tell.  Alistair bowed very formally: “I would be beholden to you, my lady,” he said, enunciating as pompously as possible to make her laugh.

She did laugh, rolling her eyes in a fond sort of way that Alistair hadn’t seen since… well, he wasn’t going to think about Mahariel right now.  “Come on, then, Lord Pompity-Pomp.  We have a king expecting our company,” Kitty said.


	4. Banquets and Ambushes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY AN UPDATE! Sorry for the poor quality. It's been a while since I've written anything!

King Bhelen spared no expense for his guests, even with such short notice. The banquet table was filled with a rich spread of Orzammar’s finest foods: roasted nug, stews made of some kind of tasty fungus, even a cake flavored with some kind of sweet root. There were Antivan wines and Rivaini spices, and of course, a rich spread of imported cheeses.

Alistair ate his fill and then some, though he tried to remember his table manners.

“Maker, man, where are you putting it all?” Kitty asked in an undertone at his side before taking a sip of wine.

Alistair tapped the side of his head. “Brain fuel. It takes a lot to be this cunning, y’know.”

Kitty laughed, and once again Alistair found himself marveling at how pretty it sounded. He shook it off and went for the cheese again.

“So,” King Bhelen said, his voice a rich deep timbre. “What brings Warden Alistair to Orzammar? We weren’t expecting a visit from the Grey Wardens, or I would have prepared a Proving. I hope you and your companion can forgive me.”

Kitty raised her glass with a grin. “As long as the wine keeps flowing, you’ll hear no complaints from me.”

Alistair winced, but King Bhelen only laughed. “Charming. You’ll find that I have more than enough wine to sate you, my lady. As long as you’re my guests, you’ll want for nothing. It’s the least I can do for the man who helped keep the Aeducans on their rightful throne.”

Alistair chewed and swallowed, waving a hand dismissively. “Please, King Bhelen, there’s no need for all of that. We’re, er, here for… er…” He couldn’t say what they were really there for. The red lyrium rune needed to stay as secret as possible.

“I wanted to see the sights,” Kitty interjected. She leaned over and pressed her shoulder against Alistair like a close friend or lover might. She looked up at Alistair through long lashes and sighed dreamily. Even though he knew it was just for show, Alistair felt that squirming feeling in his chest again. “Alistair said there was nothing as amazing as Orzammar, and he’s promised to bring me here for _ages_.”

That answer was apparently enough of an answer for Bhelen, who looked quite appeased. “Then I will do all I can to make the trip a memorable one. I’ll have quarters prepared for you in the Diamond Quarter, and tomorrow I can arrange for an official tour.”

They would never find the answers they needed if they had official escorts up their arses the entire time. “Your Majesty, there’s truly no need—“

“Nonsense! No one will be able to say that King Bhelen treated the Grey Wardens with anything less than the utmost courtesy.” He snapped his fingers, and a servant immediately appeared at his side. “Let me arrange an escort for you to your quarters.”

“Oh,” Kitty said, endeavoring to look quite put out. She gave Alistair another long, theatrical look. “I was rather hoping for a… a quiet walk.” She looked down at her lap as if bashful, and then made something of a show of taking Alistair’s hand under the table. Their fingers intertwined, and Alistair didn’t need to fake the blush that came to his cheeks.

King Bhelen looked from Alistair to Kitty and back again. Then he roared with laughter. “I see, I see. I’ll allow you your privacy tonight. Tomorrow, though, you must indulge me with an official tour.”

“Of course, your Majesty,” Kitty said with a shy smile. Maker, she ought to be in the theater.

Once the final course was cleared away, they departed. Kitty took his hand again, and Alistair allowed it. If King Bhelen believed he was only here to show his lover the sights, it was all the better.

As they walked through the Diamond Quarter, Alistair blew out his breath. Kitty withdrew her hand, and Alistair felt a stab of regret. Maker, what was wrong with him? “Dinner as the honored guest of a king, check. One more thing to check off the bucket list,” Kitty said cheerfully.

“So now what do we do? We have no idea where to start asking about this rune, and tomorrow Bhelen is going to be up our arses,” Alistair said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Still thrown by all the handholding, he picked up the pace, leaving Kitty a few steps behind.

Kitty shrugged. “Dunno. It’ll— _oof_.”

Alistair turned around just in time to see Kitty sprawled on the ground, with a truncheon-bearing dwarf looming over her, his face obscured by a kerchief. “Kitty!” Alistair cried, drawing his sword.

The dwarf threw something to the ground, creating a thick smoke. _Deathroot_ , Alistair thought as he caught a whiff of it. _Don’t breathe it in, don’t breathe it… don’t…_

But it was too late. His head spun, and he felt his sword slip from his limp fingers. Then everything went black.


	5. Confusion in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Hooray! :D Please someone read it and validate me.

“Kitty?”

Her head hurt, and she decided that she didn’t want to answer. Whatever Carver was harping on about could wait.

“Hawke! _Hawke!_ ”

Carver hated calling her that, and slowly she began to remember… or rather, she began to think about what she didn’t’ remember. She had been walking with Alistair through the Diamond Quarter before everything had gone black. And Carver couldn't be talking to her: he was dead, and the reminder made her chest ache.

She blinked slowly, wincing at the light. Her head was throbbing. Another head injury and period of lengthy unconsciousness to add to the list: it was a good thing Anders wasn’t her healer anymore, or he’d have some stern words for her. Thinking about Anders hurt nearly as much as her head, and Kitty groaned.

“Please wake up.” Alistair sounded desperate.

“M’up, m’up,” she muttered. She tried to stretch her limbs only to find that they were bound. Great. She was tied up, propping in a sitting position against a wall. Today had started out so promisingly, too.

“Thank the Maker,” Alistair said. He was tied up across from her in what looked like a jail cell but couldn’t possibly be. King Bhelen wouldn’t have thrown them in prison, and who else in Orzammar would have the authority?

“Where are we?” she said, still muttering.

Alistair sounded hoarse, as though he had been coughing a great deal. “I’m not sure. They knocked me for a loop with deathroot, so I kept fading in and out. I think we’re in Dust Town.”

Kitty stared at him blankly. “What, and where, is Dust Town?”

Alistair grimaced. “It’s where the casteless dwarves live. Y’know, the branded ones. It’s also where the Carta used to operate before Rhet and I shut them down. Maybe they’ve started up again.”

“What would the Carta want with us?”

“I don’t know. We killed everybody who would want revenge back during the Blight, and so far our captors haven’t been very chatty.” Alistair’s tone was dry.

“So,” Kitty said, “I guess we better start going down the list. How long is your list of people who want you dead? Mine’s alphabetical.”

“I’m a Grey Warden in uniform. You’d have to be mad to attack me.”

“I don’t have any mad dwarves on my list. I used to, but they’re all dead, too.” The cartel in the Vinmark Mountains had been entirely destroyed during all that Corypheus business a few years back. Unless there was another sect of them...

Or had Sebastian finally tracked her down? Kitty didn’t think he had the resources outside the Free Marches, but he certainly had the coin to bribe folks into taking her prisoner on his behalf. “This could be… look, there’s this fellow I know who wasn’t too happy with me after the Chantry exploded in Kirkwall.”

Alistair actually snorted. “Just the one?”

“Hey, I didn’t _do_ it. I was just… seeing the man who did it. And we don’t speak anymore." Maker only knew where Anders was at this point. Kitty didn't know, and she told herself that didn't care. "Point is, Sebastian swore revenge. He might be after me.”

“I really don’t think—“

Whatever Alistair thought or didn’t think went unsaid, as the door to their cell creaked open to reveal three dwarves. “Time to talk, humans,” the first one said.

“Oh good, I’ve been feeling awfully chatty,” Kitty said.

The dwarf stepped closer and looked down at her. “You don’t want to know what I think of mouthy humans, girl. Shut it until you’re spoken to.”

“Well, you’re speaking to me now, so—“ she continued, undeterred.

The dwarf drew a knife and placed it at the corner of Kitty’s mouth, tearing it across her cheek without a moment’s hesitation. In agony and surprise, Kitty screamed.

“Leave her alone!” Alistair struggled against his bonds as Kitty slumped forward, breathing hard and bleeding heavily.

The dwarf wiped the blood off his knife and looked to Alistair. “Now that she’s learned a lesson, perhaps you can tell me: where is the red lyrium shard?”


	6. A Confession and An Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Yes, I know the Primal Lyrium Rune actually increases attack speed, but for the purposes of this story, it appears to be just a useless rock for now. Or is Kitty just a liar? Hmm.)

Alistair had always been a horrible liar. He stammered, his face turned red, and he usually came up with some outlandish excuse that was immediately seen through. A lot of things had changed about him over the years since Mahariel’s death. That hadn’t been one of them.

“What makes you think I know anything about _that_?” he asked, his voice shaky. He tried to look around the dwarf to get a look at Kitty. She was still conscious, and by her short, quick breaths she was furious as well as in a lot of pain.

The dwarf’s fist connected with his face, and Alistair felt something crack in the region of his nose. Great. “Ow, fuck me,” he cursed.

“I’m not playing around with you two. Tell us where the red lyrium shard is _now_ ,” the dwarf growled.

“Uh, it’s, uh, look I’m having a little trouble thinking after you cracked me one in the face,” Alistair said.

“Think harder and faster if you don’t want another one.”

“It’s not here,” Kitty said suddenly, her voice dark with barely contained rage.

The dwarf turned back to her. The two by the door only recrossed their arms.

“The chatty little wench has something important to say now, does she?” the dwarf asked.

She spat blood at him, which he wiped from his face with two fingers before drawing his knife again. “Bloody bitch. I’ll give you a cut on the other side to match.”

“I had the shard. Only I know where it is. Cut me again, and I swear to whatever rock gods you worship that you’ll _never_ find it.” She raised her head, pale blue eyes burning and blood dripping from her teeth. If possible, Alistair would have drawn back. She looked like a predator, a hawk on the hunt, something dangerous but beautiful.

“If you’re the one I need, then he’s useless,” the dwarf said, kicking at one of Alistair’s legs. “Talk, or I kill him. Simple deal.”

“If I talk, do you swear to let us go?”

The dwarves all laughed. “I swear on my ma’s brand, we won’t keep you here once we get what we want.” So they’d have their throats cut and be tossed into a lava floe. Great. Alistair wiggled against the rough stone wall. His bonds were made of simple rope, perhaps he could start wearing them down.

“It’s in Tapster’s,” Kitty said. “I wasn’t sure if King Bhelen would try to take it from me, so I hid it in my room there.”

The dwarf seemed a little taken aback at having gotten his answer relatively quickly. “Hidden where?”

“Don’t remember. Someone knocked me on the head and sliced my face open.”

“Girlie—“ the dwarf advanced on her with the knife again. _Maker’s breath, Kitty, shut it!_ Alistair thought as loudly as he could.

“Okay, okay! There’s a loose stone in there in the floor. It’s under there. Then you can have your stupid shard. It’s useless anyway. It’s a rune that doesn’t do a damn thing. You might as well eat it; I hope you choke on it.”

The dwarf laughed again. “It might be useless to you, but to us, it’s the key! The key to reviving our master, Corypheus.”

Kitty’s expression changed from one of rage to one of… horror? Maybe even fear? Alistair wiggled his arms against the rough stone a little faster. He was tearing the fabric of his sleeves and rubbing his arms raw beneath them, but hopefully the robes were weakening. His nose throbbed, and the swelling was starting to affect his eyesight.

“Corypheus is dead. I stuck a dagger through his brain. Two of them. And I did it three times to be sure. Find another mad cause,” Kitty said, still spitting blood.

The dwarf gripped her chin roughly. “Foolish, silly little bird. Corypheus can’t be killed.”

“Urtok, we should go,” one of the dwarves by the door said.

“I’m going to Tapster’s myself. Sturn, you’re with me. Brandal, post a guard at the door so these two stay put. If they’re lying, they’ll regret it.”

The dwarves left and slammed the door behind them. Alistair heard the lock click into place before twisting his bound legs around so he was sitting on his knees. “Kitty, are you alright?” he asked.

“M’fine,” she said, spitting again. She was right about the red tunic hiding bloodstains, though the puddle on the floor next to her was still growing. “I’ve had worse.”

“You don’t look it.”

She actually laughed. “I can’t tell if that’s a compliment. My pretty face is probably ruined for good. I doubt there’re any good healers down here. You might be in trouble yourself if we don’t get that nose in order.”

“First things first. We’ve got to get out of here. Did you really leave the shard, er, stone in Tapster’s?”

“No! It’s…” She bounced once and jerked her chin downwards, and Alistair blinked, not following.

“It’s between my tits, slowpoke. The one place they didn’t think to search, and lucky us they weren’t more thorough.”

“Oh,” he said, reddening. “Yeah, that’s… lucky us, alright.”

His wiggling finally bore fruit, and he felt the rope binding his wrists give way. “Right.” He began untying the rope at his ankles. “Let’s get out of here, and get you some help. Bhelen won’t stand for this, and he’s bound to have at least a halfway decent healer around.”

“Sometimes I miss having a magical boyfriend. I never had to worry about scarring before,” Kitty said, sounding a little… sad. He supposed she had taken a pretty good bump to the head.

“You can tell me all about your magical boyfriend later,” he said, untying the ropes at Hawke’s ankles before moving on to her wrists. “Gotta get out of here.”

“Ex-boyfriend. Very ex.”

“That’s good to know.” It actually was, and Alistair felt himself turning red again. There was no time for this. “Is there anything we can use as a weapon in here?”

They both looked around their barren stone cell. “All we have is rope.”

“So nothing, then. Great.”

Kitty staggered to her feet. “I can use rope, trust me. And your fists aren’t broken, are they? We’ve got this.” For someone who had no idea what lay outside that door or anything about the forces that might be waiting for them, she sounded awfully cocky.

She pulled a pin from her hair and leaned down in front of the door. “Shuffle around and make some noise so they can’t hear me picking,” she ordered. “And get ready, big boy. I'm not letting them bring Corypheus back. We’re in for a fight.” She grinned that predatory smile again, and instead of being rightfully afraid, Alistair found that he quite liked it.


	7. A Vicious Getaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, I'm not so good at the action.

Kitty’s face burned like shit. There were no mirrors in their cell, so she couldn’t tell if it looked as bad as it felt, but she had a feeling that it did. Son of a bitch had ripped the side of her mouth open halfway across her cheek. She wished she could do the same thing to him in return, but she knew that getting out of here in one piece hinged on escaping before the bulk—she hoped—of his forces were done raiding Tapster’s Tavern.

Alistair was obligingly making noise, covering up the quiet sound of her hairpin gently fiddling around in the door’s lock. She was good with a lockpick—not as good as Varric but still good—but she had never picked a lock with her face bleeding this much. Her hands were coated in it, making the hairpin slide around between her fingers.

Finally, the lock clicked.

Kitty’s eyes slid to Alistair. “You ready?” She had no idea what could be waiting for them beyond that door. There could be one hundred dwarves in this little sect, all eager and willing to beat them to death.

Alistair seemed to know this. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He cracked his knuckles.

Kitty took the longest piece of the thick rope that had been used to bind them and knotted one end of it to make a crude cudgel. “Open the door, then. Let’s go.”

Alistair nodded and opened the door to reveal… two dwarves. “Oy!” one yelled.

As fast as she could—and Kitty was damn fast, mind you—Kitty launched herself out the door and onto the first dwarf, whipping the rope around to crack him in the head with the knotted end. Once he was down, she wrapped the rope around his neck and pulled hard.

Alistair was slower but stronger. It was hard to punch down at a person hovering around waist height, but at least he wasn’t wearing a helmet. Alistair felt something in his knuckles crack and break as his fist connected with the dwarf’s cheek again and again. Angry and fighting was a good look for him.

Kitty released her rope when the dwarf stopped struggling, not checking to see if he was dead. He didn’t need to be dead, only unconscious. She wasn’t going to stop to check for a pulse, because she didn’t care. Her face really hurt. “Come on!” she said, taking off down the hall in a random direction and hoping the door out lay that way.

Alistair could barely keep up with her. The hall ended up in a door, which Kitty hurled herself against. It opened with a bang as it swung and hit the wall on the other side, and Kitty stopped dead in her tracks so quickly that Alistair crashed into her. The room was full of dwarves, all cloaked and hooded and all facing something that looked like Kitty’s red lyrium rune only larger.

And worse of all, they were all looking at the intruders.

“Sorry to interrupt. Keep doing your thing,” Kitty said, grabbing Alistair by the shoulders and turning him around bodily. “Run!”

Shouts erupted behind them as they leapt over the bodies of the two dwarves they had incapacitated. Okay, the one she had gone at with the rope definitely looked dead. Oops.

The hall split into two corridors, and Kitty stalled. Alistair sniffed the air and pulled her arm towards the left corridor. “Air smells different here,” he explained as they ran.

“Don’t care,” Kitty replied. "Just get us out."

Two more dwarves guarded a door ahead of them, and once again Kitty was a blur of violence that left Alistair more than a little taken aback. She took a flying kick at one, twisting in midair to keep her feet when she landed and spinning to swing her rope at the second dwarf. It wrapped around his neck, and she pulled hard, dragging him down to the ground where Alistair decided to chip in and kick him in the face.

Together they crashed through the door, and Alistair let out a sigh of relief as he recognized Dust Town. Now there was a sentence he never thought he would catch himself thinking. “I vote we keep running,” Kitty said.

“Definitely,” Alistair said, not wanting to waste his breath on too many words. “Back to Bhelen. Healers and backup.”

“Agreed,” Kitty said.

They charged out of Dust Town like a demon was on their heels, which wasn’t too far from the truth.

From a side passage, Urtok and his group watched them go. Sturn started to make after them, but Urtok threw out his arm. “Let them go. There will be other chances.” His eyes narrowed. “The rune will find its way to us. It knows where it belongs.”


	8. What They Say About Assumptions

“This is an outrage!” Bhelen roared for the seventeenth time, pacing in front of his throne.

“Yep,” Alistair said tiredly, holding a poultice to his knuckles. They were definitely broken, and it definitely hurt, but he was more worried about Kitty. He looked over at her: “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Pissing shit piss off cock _dicks_ ,” she hissed in response. The dwarf who was carefully and delicately knitting the side of her cheek shut ignored the unending stream of curses, and Alistair did, too. The dwarven healers had stopped the bleeding, and if they had to use… unusual methods to close the wound, well, at least it was getting closed.

He tried to think of something comforting to do, so he reached over with his good hand and took her own, partly expecting her to snatch it back or maybe strike out at him. Instead she clenched it so hard her knuckles turned white. Well, whiter. She was pretty pale. He ran his thumb over them, and something about the gesture felt right.

So he liked her. Alistair wasn’t so inexperienced that he couldn’t recognize his own developing feelings. Kitty was vivacious and beautiful, two traits anybody could clearly see. He’d seen her in action; he’d be crazy not to be a little bit crazy about her at this point, right?

“Warden? Warden!” Oh, right, Bhelen was talking, and Alistair wasn’t listening. He was too busy remembering how quickly he had fallen for Rhet Mahariel and wondering if he was about to do the same thing over again… and if it would end as badly.

“Sorry, right, it’s an outrage,” Alistair answered.

“That’s not what I asked,” Bhelen said in frustration. “Are you sure you’re alright? Deathroot can snare up the senses.”

Maybe that’s what it was making him feel so strange, but he doubted it. He recognized this lightness in his chest for what it was.

“I’m fine. Now, what did you ask?”

“I asked if you could find this place again,” Bhelen said, sitting down on his throne. “I could send soldiers to tear Dust Town apart, but that would be… counterproductive to the work I’ve been doing for the casteless.” As he spoke, a red-haired casteless woman brought him a mug of something to drink. “Thank you, Rica.”

“Maybe?” Alistair answered as Bhelen took a long pull of whatever was in the mug. “We weren’t exactly stopping to look around. Kitty might remember better than I do.”

“I remember… sod _off_ piss shit,” Kitty contributed.

“When she’s feeling up to talking, that is.”

Bhelen frowned. “We don’t have time for that. Who knows what this group has planned? I have enemies here, Warden. They could have designs on my throne, and the longer I let them be, the longer they have to plot. And you still haven’t told me what they wanted with you.” His eyes narrowed, and Alistair’s stomach twisted. Bhelen was no fool, but the red lyium rune wasn’t Alistair’s secret to reveal.

“Ow!” Kitty said as the healer finished the final stitch and stepped back to admire his handiwork. “You’re a butcher. Thanks for the help,” she said to him.

“You’re welcome?”

Kitty blew out her breath, and Alistair noticed the sheen of sweat on her forehead. She needed rest: she had taken a blow to the head and, if he was being honest, done most of the fighting on their headlong flight from the cult.

Alistair reluctantly let go of her hand, not sure when he’d be able to take it again. He stood up: “We need sleep before we can help with anything. I appreciate your healers and your help, King Bhelen, but we’re useless to you like this.”

Bhelen looked frustrated, likely wanting to march on Dust Town that very moment. “Very well. I’ll give you a room here in the palace with guards at the door. Nothing will happen to you under my roof, at least I can guarantee that.”

_A_ room? Alistair and Kitty exchanged a shocked look before each quickly looked away. Bhelen had clearly taken them for a couple, and based on Kitty’s little word games at dinner earlier, Alistair could hardly blame him. Should he say something? Demand a second room? Would that offend Kitty? Oh, balls.

“We’ll be fine,” Kitty said, and Alistair didn’t know whether she was speaking to him or Bhelen. “We’ll make it work. Thank you, your kingship. Kingliness. Whatever.”

Bhelen gave Alistair a look that said something along the lines of _you make strange choices, topsider _. “Rest well, Warden and Lady Hawke. Tomorrow we’re heading to Dust Town.”__


	9. The Business

Alistair was sure that his face was going to catch fire, and he cursed the Maker for giving him such a noticeable blush. “I’ll just… grab a pillow and take the floor.”

Kitty waved him off, appearing not to mind. She had already stripped to her undershirt without an apparent care in the world, so Alistair stared up at the ceiling instead. “You’ll do no such thing. There’s room for both of us, and we’re both adults, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, and adults are, y’know… into etiquette. And stuff.” _And stuff, what an inspired response, Alistair._

Kitty made a _pssh_ sound and it occurred to Alistair that Kitty had never once thus far shown herself to be a woman concerned with what was polite. “Look, I know just the thing to make this less weird.”

Alistair raised a suspicious eyebrow and brought his gaze down from the carved ceiling. “Oh?”

Kitty nodded. “It’s a game I used to play with my siblings when they were little and still liked me.” Well, there was a sad story behind _that_ statement. Kitty sat down with her legs crossed and tapped the floor in front of her. “We sit like this, knee to knee, and the first one to make the other one react wins.”

_“React?”_

“You know. Smile. Laugh. That kind of thing. My brother Carver was a sucker for funny faces when he was toddling. Come on, let’s play before your face burns off.”

Alistair wasn’t sure if a game for children was going to help them overcome the fact that King Bhelen had them sharing a bedroom, but Kitty was looking up at him with her eyes glowing, and he didn’t have it in him to say no. He was sure she’d be beaming if one side of her face wasn’t stitched up.

He sat down and crossed his legs, letting his knees touch hers. It put them far too close for comfort, but that was probably part of the game, too. Pale blue eyes set in a pale face met his gaze. “Okay. This is going to be harder since I can’t move half my face without crying, but I’m pretty sure I can beat you.”

She was so confident. “You’re in for a surprise then, Lady Hawke. I’m ready.” He put his hands on his knees and set his face in a near grimace.

Kitty crossed her eyes. Alistair didn’t react. She stuck out her tongue. He remained impassive. She smiled and then went ‘ow’ at the same time Alistair’s face turned into a real grimace and caused him to look away. “Piss, that hurts. I think we both lost that one.”

“Yeah, sorry. Kitty, about your face, I’m sorry—“ As if he could have done anything to stop it from happening.

She flapped her hands. “Not your fault. Don’t wanna talk about it. It’s over, and tomorrow Bhelen’s going to trounce the fellows who did it. Next round is your turn.”

Alistair tried making every funny face he could think of. Maker, this was really stupid, but it _was_ also taking his mind off the bedding situation. Kitty didn’t react until he made a fart sound with his lips, and then she was off giggling like a child. It was incredibly immature, yet her giggle was still pretty.

She put her hands on her knees, causing their hands to brush and both of them to jerk back. An awkward silence fell in which Alistair caught Kitty rub her thumb over the spot where their hands had touched, and he swallowed. He said softly: “I think it’s your turn.”

Kitty gave him a look he hadn’t seen before and one that he couldn’t read. “Okay.” She sucked in a deep breath and then said: “I bet I could give you the ride of your life on that bed if you weren’t being such a gentleman about it.”

Alistair spluttered, and his face immediately felt as though it were on fire. She didn’t honestly just say that, did she? She couldn’t possibly have said that. Kitty pointed at him: “I win. I think I win the whole game.” Oh, she sounded so pleased with herself.

“No, you don’t,” Alistair said, and he did what he had been thinking about doing since the Bhelen’s dinner. He leaned forward and kissed her—very carefully, and more on the good corner of her mouth than anywhere near the stitches—and he heard her draw in her breath sharply. His hand rested gently on her good cheek, his thumb brushing over the soft skin there. It felt very, very right.

Before he could say ‘I win,’ Alistair felt himself pushed onto his back, which would have been a bad thing if she hadn’t followed after him. Kitty straddled him and dug her fingers into his hair as if she had been waiting to do so for a long time, and he groaned when he felt the tip of her tongue brush across his earlobe. “You’re a right bastard for that. And I can’t even kiss you properly.”

“Things we can do besides kiss,” he managed huskily. He was slightly surprised at himself, but he was much older than the boy who used to joke about lampposts in winter. Not much wiser, which was why the woman on top of him was the kind who laughed at fart jokes instead of being much more dull.

She laughed, which was punctuated by another ‘ow.’ “Aren’t you full of surprises, Ser Proper. And you don’t know the half of what _I_ can do, I promise you.” She ground her hips into his and took his earlobe between her teeth.

“Everyone underestimates me,” he managed to complain. He wrapped an arm around her waist and flipped her over easily. She squealed and looked shocked to find herself beneath him, gazing up at him with wide blue eyes and black hair coming loose from its ponytail, and for a moment Alistair had to take in how beautiful she really was. 

With a boldness that surprised even him, he pushed her shirt up and kissed the toned plane of her stomach, which made her suck in her breath again in a way that Alistair decided he was very fond of. His hands were already wandering to her waistband. “You’re forgetting, milady, that _my_ mouth works just fine.”

############

Alistair reminded Kitty how well his mouth worked until she screamed her agreement, and at some point they dragged themselves to the bed and had a lovely time sharing it until well into the wee hours of the night.

When she finally collapsed onto her back on one side of the bed, Kitty gasped for breath and ran a hand through her wild hair. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been screwed like that.”

Alistair made a face. “Do you have to put it that way?”

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve been… so vigorously made sweet, sweet love to?”

“Nevermind. Might’ve been better the first time.” Alistair threw an arm across her waist and kissed her neck, gentle kisses this time to cover the love bites he had already put there. “I just have to get used to it.”

Get used to it, like he was expecting this to happen again? Kitty decided she wasn’t wholly against that idea. She’d known since the first time she’d laid eyes on him that Alistair was a fine tree that she wanted to climb, but the kind of man she’d like to keep around? Was she even ready for that after… y’know, Anders?

“Was it too much?” Alistair asked, his voice almost shy.

Kitty turned her head to look at him with both brows raised. “Are you kidding me? People pay money for worse.”

He chuckled. “Thanks, I think.” He kissed her cheek, another sweet gesture that Kitty didn’t know how to take.

“Listen, Alistair… I haven’t been with anyone since my ex. And we were together a long time, and it all went so badly… I might not be what you want.” How could she make him understand that? How could she be what anyone wanted? She was crude and loony on her good days and a complete fool on her bad days. Anders had certainly taken her for one in the end.

Alistair brushed a piece of hair from her sweat-dampened forehead, and the bad thoughts faded away. “Is it too much if I say you’re exactly what I want?”

Kitty laughed softly and turned her face to hide what might have been a blush. “Maker, you’re a terrible sex-drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“On sex you are, and it’s addled your brains. Next thing you’ll be promising me the stars in the sky,” she said, spreading her hands and sweeping them through the air.

He cradled his head on his arm and looked over at her with a grin. “Name one, and watch.” 

Kitty laughed, and she had to admit that she was completely and utterly charmed by him. “The only stars I want are people.”

Alistair looked confused. Kitty rolled onto her stomach and walked her fingers across his chest. “When you meet people, some of them have a way of shining. Like a star. Better, really. Sometimes you don’t notice it at first; it may be hidden by grub and dirt or whatever, but eventually you realize how lucky you are. Those stars are the best kinds.”

He regarded her seriously, taking her in in a way she wasn't used to and that nearly made her squirm away before he caught her walking fingers and kissed them, one by one. “Since you started with the people-stars thing, it’s not corny at all if I say you’re one.”

She _had_ been once, until Anders had worn away all her shine. “So are you,” she said quietly. It had been obvious the moment she met him that he was more than just a good man.

“Well, that makes us remarkably special doesn’t it?” Alistair said.

“Not as special as you might think. I know—knew—a lot of stars.” Her mother had been one. Bethany had _definitely_ been one. And Anders himself was one, in the end, shining with a fire that had grown too hot for any mortal to handle.

“I think I did, too,” Alistair said, a little sadder now.

He started to talk again, and Kitty hushed him. “Just think about the stars,” she murmured.


End file.
